


Masterpieces

by sadgaydetective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadgaydetective/pseuds/sadgaydetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Sherlock always thought he had an okay life. However, his family forces him to make some changes. What at first he thinks would make his life miserable, brings him to John, whose hair is golden and whose smile is the most beautiful sight in the world, and suddenly everything doesn't seem so bad anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock lay sprawled on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He was _bored._ Mother had forbidden any experiments for today, so he didn’t know what to do with himself. Christ, if he had known about the possible outcome of his experiment being half of the kitchen demolished he might have done it somewhere else, but that risk was part of experimenting, of _science_ , and if Mother wasn’t able to appreciate that he really couldn’t help her.

Sighing, he turned on his side and reached for his violin, only it wasn’t there. He frowned, until it came to him that Mycroft must have hidden it somewhere. That screamed for revenge _._ Almost smiling, Sherlock got up. Everything was better than being bored, and he could imagine less entertaining activities than picking a fight with Mycroft.

Quietly, he opened the door to his room and slipped away. The thick carpet on the floor made it easy to sneak through the house, but he was careful anyway; a bit practice never hurt anyone. He didn’t want his mother to find him sneaking up on Mycroft; for some unknown reason she didn’t like it when he played tricks on his older brother.

As he wandered through the house to Mycroft’s room, he thought about where his violin could be hidden. It wasn’t in Mycroft’s room; that was no fun.  Mycroft sure put it somewhere ‘safe’ where Sherlock couldn’t reach it. _Always so obvious,_ he thought, sighing.

He had reached Mycroft’s room and started picking the lock. He couldn’t understand how Mycroft had not installed a more secure lock on his door; Sherlock had lost count how often he’d broken into Mycroft’s room. It was so easy. Mycroft rarely used it anymore since he had moved out because, as he said, it didn’t suit an employee of the British government to live at his mother’s. Sherlock had to agree with him.

But still, Mycroft kept a lot of things here, things he regarded as useless and sentimental. At least that’s what he told everybody. But besides the remaining question why he kept all of it if he didn’t care about it, Sherlock knew Mycroft kept some highly important documents there, simply because he couldn’t imagine anyone to suspect them in his old room in his mother’s house. And what sounded better than causing Mycroft a huge headache because some of his secret documents had vanished?

The lock clicked satisfyingly and after Sherlock glanced along the corridor to see if anyone was coming, he slid into the room. It was dark and slightly dusty – since no one lived here, the staff didn’t bother to clean.

Eagerly, Sherlock strode forward to the shelves on the wall opposite to the door. Beneath the shelves, there were at least six boxes. Sherlock knew exactly where to look. Sometimes he wondered if Mycroft knew how well Sherlock knew him. Probably. Mycroft wasn’t exactly one of the slow kind, yet so boring.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He rifled through the huge stack of documents until he found something that looked important enough. He skimmed the document, barely interested – when something caught his attention. Frowning, he started to read from the top of the page. When he was done, he stormed out of the room, not caring to unlock it or to cover up his tracks.

“MYCROFT,” he yelled through the house. He didn’t care if he was being loud; dammit, this house needed some noise. He didn’t care what his mother was going to say; he wanted her to explain herself. He didn’t care if Mycroft would accuse him of spying on him; he wanted his brother to know he had.

He stormed through the house, angrily searching for his brother, for _someone,_ to yell at.

A door opened. “Sherlock, what are you doing? Behave yourself.” Mycroft had come out of one of the offices in their house.

Suddenly Sherlock couldn’t speak. Furiously, he held out the document in his hands to Mycroft. Frowning, the older brother took the sheet and skimmed it, turning slightly white by doing so.

“Sherlock…,” he started hesitantly, but Sherlock interrupted.

“Don’t!” Sherlock yelled. He couldn’t hold back his anger. “When were you going to tell me? How _could_ you?”

Mycroft simply stared at him, visibly annoyed.

“Sherlock, would you just listen to me for a moment? I know it is hard for you, but at least try.”

Sherlock scowled and followed Mycroft back inside. The older brother turned around a ridiculously intimidating desk and sat down behind it.

Sherlock couldn’t help but snort derisively as he sat down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Enjoying your new position of power, are you?”

Mycroft shot him a thoughtful glance, one of the kinds Sherlock couldn’t stand.

“What?” he spat.

“You should think about your future, Sherlock. I know, you disapprove of holding a position in the government, but we both know what you are able of doing. You know your silly little experiments are not going to get you far. Maybe it is time to come back to reality. Grow up, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with what sounded like pity.

Sherlock hated him.

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mycroft. What’s this?” Sherlock pointed to the sheet of paper that lay between them.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I think we are both perfectly aware of what this is. Or have your brain cells suddenly stopped doing this brilliant job of theirs?”

Sherlock pretended not to hear this last comment. “Explain,” he demanded, and sat back, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Mycroft sighed. “You read the document, Sherlock. I don’t know what there is that you could possibly need an explanation for.”

“So you are not going to defend yourself or Mother?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

“Oh, would you stop being so childish?”

Sherlock managed not to roll his eyes. “So what are you going to do? And when were you going to tell me? You can hardly think I wouldn’t have found out sooner or later.”

Mycroft hesitated. “I was meant to tell you with Mother. Why don’t we –“

“For fuck’s sake, Mycroft! I’m not going to wait for her! You tell me now!”

Mycroft glared at Sherlock. “Mind your language. And stop telling me what to do; you are old enough to have at least some amount of decency in yourself.”

Sherlock rose to his feet. “So you’re going to put me into some kind of boring public school where I’m supposed to make friends and act like I’m just as dull as everyone else? You can’t make me, Mycroft! I don’t need other people to tell me what I already know. I don’t need to see how boring everybody is. I don’t need to socialise in order to understand that I can’t. I don’t need _that_.” He waved in front of him, meaning the general idea.

“Are you afraid, Sherlock?” Mycroft looked delighted.

“I’m not! Of course I’m not! Why would I be afraid of a public gathering of morons that calls itself school? The only thing that would happen is my death caused by boredom. Unless, of course, this is what you have been aiming for…”  Something sparkled in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, brother mine.” Mycroft suddenly looked very tired. “But you read what the psychologist says.”

“You mean what you implanted in his head.”

Mycroft pretended he didn’t hear the interruption.

“You need to learn how to socialise. You need to be around others your age; you need to make friends and to understand human nature. The doctor’s suggestion to send you to a public school makes perfect sense.”

Sherlock huffed. “It doesn’t. I don’t need to. I’m perfectly fine.”

He got another pitiful look from Mycroft.

“How would you know, Sherlock? How would you know?”

He couldn’t stand Mycroft’s look anymore and stormed out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock scowled at the woman in front of him. He had only seen her for a couple of seconds and already disliked her.

Next to him, Mycroft sighed. He knew what this look on Sherlock’s face meant and he didn’t like it. Sherlock decided to scowl even more.

The woman gave him an insecure smile. “Hello, you must be Sherlock! They’re really excited to meet you!”

Sherlock was visibly enervated and shot Mycroft a side glance. “Do I really have to?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” he answered and turned to face the woman, “Excuse him. As you have probably heard, all of this is new to him. I am sure Mother has talked to you and made her expectations clear. Hopefully there won’t be any problems.”

All attempts not to make it sound like a warning vanished before they could even rise. The woman swallowed and nodded. “Yeah … um. I’m positive he’ll fit right in,” she said with what she must have thought sounded like a reassuring tone. 

Mycroft gave her a suppressed smile and looked at Sherlock once more. “Do try to behave on your first day, brother, will you?”

Sherlock ignored him and pretended to be busy with scowling at some bad paintings on the wall opposite to him.

Mycroft sighed and added, “Somebody will be here to pick him up later in the afternoon. Good luck.” And with that, he turned on the heel and left.

The woman stared after him for a few seconds. Then she realized Sherlock was still here and she continued to stare at him instead. Remembering her professionalism, she blinked a few times and started to speak. “So, Sherlock. Are you excited to meet the others? It’s always so much fun for the class to see new faces. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

He sighed and followed the woman who led him upstairs where rows and rows of blue lockers waited for him. Besides that it appeared to be surprisingly prosaic. Some rather poor drawings and paintings on the walls, but nothing more. He almost liked it.

He remembered how the secretary had given him his locker number this morning, just before the woman now walking next to him had ‘taken care of him’. He had got number 21, and while they were walking down the corridor, he tried to make out the numbers on the lockers, but he couldn’t quite manage it. _Sod it._ He wasn’t even sure if I wanted a locker at the far end, where he was unlikely to be disturbed, or one close to classroom and school entrance, from where he could escape quicker.

His thoughts still on the lockers, the woman caught Sherlock completely by surprise and opened the last door on this floor and shoved him into the classroom.

It took him a moment to recover from the surprise, and when he did, he wanted to disappear. Twenty curious faces were staring at him, the new boy in class. He turned back to the door and stared at the woman in horror, but all she did was wink and close the door.

“Ah, you must be Sherlock! We’ve been expecting you! Guys, he’s the new one!” The teacher, who was sitting next to the blackboard on an enormous desk, beamed at the rest of the class and got a few murmured ‘hellos’ as response.

Sherlock was terrified. He did not understand why he had to do this. In his opinion, everything had been going great in his life; he’d had some rather interesting scientific discoveries lately and only started to dive into all the interesting experiments there were. But apparently his mother didn’t think the same. And now he was stuck in this room with morons, one duller than the other. And all of them were staring at him.

Sherlock hated it. He knew exactly he didn’t look like them. He knew he didn’t belong here. He just _knew_.

“Do you want to introduce yourself briefly before we start?”

“No.”

A few chuckles in the classroom. _Oh, they didn’t know yet that he was being serious._

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I do not want to introduce myself to a room full of idiots; I’d like to spend my time more wisely. Also, if anyone really wishes to get to know me, the hints are clearly laid-out in front of you, if you know where to look, and if you don’t know where to look, it’s neither your nor my time worth it.”

He was already bored out of his mind. Everything was _ordinary_ here.

Sherlock observed the room briefly. There were a few open spots in the classroom; he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to sit. The girl with the stupid bangs? She seemed like the talkative type. So no. The boy with thin hair and glasses? Parents didn’t care a lot about him, sought for attention a lot. No. There was another boy, and _how had Sherlock missed him until now?_ His hair was so _golden_ and he had a faint smile on his lips and his eyes were so big and seemed to sparkle with amusement and –

“Sherlock!”

The class laughed uncomfortably. Sherlock blinked a few times and realized he had been staring at this boy with golden hair for far too long. The boy flashed an uncertain smile and looked away.

 _Fool_ , he cursed himself.

“Yes, Sir,” he said stiffly; this was getting way too embarrassing.

“Now that you apparently lack the enthusiasm for telling us something about you, we’re just going to get started. You have chosen a rather unusual time to join us, but we welcome you nonetheless. Just go ahead and choose where you want to sit; you will grasp the most important things throughout the day.”

Sherlock nodded distractedly and skimmed his gaze over the room once more. He obviously couldn’t sit next to _the boy_ , it would have been too embarrassing, and so he was going to have to choose someone else. After a short consideration he crossed the room and sat down next to the girl. He pretended not to notice the twist of her mouth as he sat down. _Good. At least she wasn’t going to talk to him all the time then._ He forced himself not to look at the boy to see if he was glad or disappointed at Sherlock’s choice. Better not to know.

When he had sat down, the teacher turned the class’ concentration to the blackboard. Or at least he tried to. But throughout the day, Sherlock couldn’t help but get extremely annoyed at all the badly hidden looks and murmurs in his direction.

He could have blamed it on simply being the new one in school, but Sherlock knew exactly why nobody really wanted to talk to him, why he sat at his desk alone during the few breaks they got throughout the day. He was perfectly aware of his physical appearance and other people’s reactions to it and how he just _emitted_ otherness. He didn’t need the reminder, thank you very much.

And this was what all this was. A reminder of how he didn’t fit in. He was alright with not fitting in; he didn’t care. He just didn’t need to be reminded of it constantly.

“Sherlock, would you mind answering my question?”

He jumped. He hadn’t been paying attention and barely knew what the topic was, only that it was boring and nothing new to him. Desperate for an answer he looked at the blackboard where a simple equation was written down. _Oh._ Almost disappointed, he answered and sank back in his oblivious sulk.

When the bell rang to signalise the day was over, the majority jumped up, packed their book backs and ran out of the classroom.

Sherlock stayed behind and pretended he was rearranging the contents of his book back. In reality, he didn’t want the others to see him getting into the pompous black car that was surely waiting for him at the front entrance. When he finally couldn’t pretend anymore, he got up with a sigh only to see that two people were still in the room. There was his teacher – Lestrade or something like that, not important – but more importantly, _the boy_ was lingering around the door and seemed to be waiting for something.

He wanted to go up to him and talk, but Lestrade seemed to have something else in mind. He came up to Sherlock and sat down on his desk. Sherlock made an effort to not roll his eyes. Really, adults always thought he felt better when they minimized their height as if they’d seem less intimidating when in reality Sherlock was superior to most of them, only they didn’t realise, or rather, didn’t _want_ to realise.

He wanted to snap at the teacher, but thought better of it. Mother wouldn’t like it and make Mycroft give a speech about manners and all sorts of useless social norms.

Instead, he forced a smile at the older man and signalled he wanted to leave. Of course Lestrade didn’t buy the hint.

“How did you like your first day here, Sherlock? You seemed very quiet.”

Sherlock couldn’t keep from huffing in annoyance. But he knew every word he said was going to go to Mother, so he forced some sentences to form in his mouth. “It was my first day here and I am not used to others being around me. It is all new to me.”

Despite wincing inwardly at the falseness of his answer, he hoped this was satisfying enough, but Lestrade didn’t seem like the very bright type.

Apparently, he had deduced wrongly. “Look, Sherlock, I know it is always hard when you start at a new school, especially if you’ve never experienced anything like that before. I just want you to know that you can always come and talk to me if you need someone. Don’t be shy. Make some new friends.”

Sherlock made a sour face at the teacher’s last words. He really didn’t need to hear all this. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t need any morons who couldn’t follow a single word he said, let alone be close to them. But that wasn’t the answer which was expected from him.

“Yes, I will. Thanks.”

He gave Lestrade a supressed smile and moved closer to the door. This time, the teacher had no intention of keeping him here or doing some more talking, so he let Sherlock through with a small smile.

When Sherlock arrived at the door and looked down the corridor, he noticed that the boy was already gone. Scowling, he turned and went the row of lockers up and down until he found number 21. He quickly shoved his books inside and walked down the stairs and through the front door into the sunlight of a late autumn afternoon. He decided to ignore the unbearable feeling of disappointment that rose in him. He could think about what it meant later – or even better, not even think about it at all and simply ignore it.

Sighing, he detected the posh car standing in front of the school building. He had been right – of course he had. His family didn’t seem to be able to withstand a chance to show off their wealth to save their life. Well. While Sherlock couldn’t change their behaviour, he might as well make good use of it.

He walked down to the car deliberately slow and slid in after he made sure Mycroft wasn’t in it, something he didn’t expect but was always a possibility. The git never let out a chance to darken Sherlock’s day.

Not needing to tell the driver where to go, he silently rested his head on the back of his seat and tried to relax a little. His first day had been dull but bearable. He didn’t like the thought of being stuck in this school for the next few years, but for now it had to be enough.  And maybe he could find out more about this boy.

“Could be worth a little deducing,” Sherlock thought, before his thoughts drifted off to his latest experiment that was waiting for him at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally decided to upload this fic. I quite like it and where it is going. However, I would love to know if it's written interestingly enough. Also, I hope I didn't make too many mistakes (not my first language, you see). I hope you stay with me and enjoy this as much as I do!


	3. Chapter 3

“How was your first day at school, dear?” Sherlock’s mother asked good-naturedly. Sherlock just scowled at her, which led Mycroft to sigh; Sherlock had stopped counting how many sighs he’d heard out of this mouth this evening.

“Sherlock, don’t be so impolite. You are asked a simple question.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother’s words, but managed to choke out an answer. “It was great, Mother. I could not ask for a better facility to educate me in the most absorptive years of my life. The averageness and of stupidity of the students and teachers is just lovely and I am sure we will get along just fine. I can’t wait to waste the next few years in there; what an opportunity!”

He gave his mother a poisonous look and watched with satisfaction as he wiped his mother’s smile off her face slowly.

Before she could say anything, Mycroft spoke up. “Sherlock, stop acting like an immature child. You know better than that. Get yourself together.  We are trying to help you and it would help if you were a little obliging.”

“I was simply expressing my opinion; I wasn’t aware we had added this to the list of things we don’t mention in this household. Excuse me.”

Mycroft only stared at Sherlock in response, but he didn’t care. He was used to his brother reacting to him like this; sometimes he really wondered why his behaviour still came like a surprise to him. His mother looked more composed than his brother, although she couldn’t hurt the glint of anger in her eyes. Sherlock didn’t care. He looked around the room they were in. It was pompous, just like the rest of the house, and lit badly with several standard-lamps. He didn’t like it. The walls were covered in an awfully patterned wallpaper that looked expensive enough to impress visitors; the table they were sitting at was big and of dark oak. Sherlock couldn’t imagine a more uncomfortable place for dinner. It was just one of the things he felt at least partly compelled to take part in. But not today. Not when his mother and brother decided to play the game of superficiality to nicely.

“May I be excused? I am not hungry and I barely contribute to this nice conversation.”

Sherlock didn’t wait for his mother’s answer. He got up and fled.

He dreaded family dinners. To his utter relief, they didn’t happen often, but sometimes his mother felt compelled to keep the illusion of a happy family upright; for whatever reason, Sherlock couldn’t imagine. They did nothing but call for an effort to be polite to the people who were coincidentally thrown into his life.

Sherlock knew his mother felt guilty for sending him to a public school. But it wasn’t so much the “public” that bothered him. Money didn’t save people from being idiots, unfortunately. The thing that bothered him was that his family suddenly started to decide over his life. Sherlock wasn’t used to this. He didn’t _need_ them to interfere in his life. But apparently he was the only one to understand this.

And now he was stuck in this miserable situation just because some kind of shrink he had been sent to by his father had decided his social skills were more than under-developed. Truly great. Sherlock thought himself to be capable of getting the things he wanted without having to ensnare the people around him.

He had tried to argue with his mother, gone on a hunger strike, started to smoke inside, and built up his experiments in the most inconvenient places he could think of, but nothing had changed his mother’s mind. Sherlock could practically smell Mycroft’s influence – he hated his brother even more now; he hadn’t thought this was possible. 

“Two more years, and I’ll be out of here,” Sherlock thought not for the first time as he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The house was quiet, not even a single footstep from the staff moving around was audible. With nothing occupied than his own thoughts, Sherlock fell asleep almost instantly.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock cursed loudly. He had been awake for most of the night after falling asleep so early in the evening. It had been a waking-up-and-falling-asleep all night long; he felt accordingly exhausted.

As he slowly got up and dressed, he thought of one thousand excuses not to go to school. But he knew his mother – or better, his brother – wouldn’t buy any of it; they’d make him go. So he sighed and went downstairs to face his family. In the mornings, they almost felt … normal. His mother was rummaging around the kitchen, his father was still sleeping most of the time, and Mycroft would sit at the table with the newspaper in his hands and a cup of coffee in front of him whenever he was home. Of course he was home today. He felt like he needed to make sure Sherlock would actually go to school, and knowing Sherlock, he didn’t try to hide his intention.

When Sherlock stepped into the kitchen, he simply looked up, raised an eyebrow, and continued reading the newspaper.

Sherlock slumped down in a chair opposite Mycroft and scowled at his brother. “What?” he asked annoyed. He was here, he was actually being reasonable and going to school, so what was it that Mycroft had to brag about?

“Good morning, brother mine. I was just expressing my surprise to see you down here at this time of the day.” He gave Sherlock a false smile.

Sherlock didn’t bother answering. He thought about getting a cup of tea before he left, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be slowed down on his first days of school.

He was about to get up and leave, but his mother pressed him back into his chair.

“You need to eat something, Sherlock, you need to stay healthy. At least have some toast and coffee.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and when she placed a plate with two pieces of toast in front of him. He nibbled at it while he watched Mycroft.

“Any countries you are going to overthrow today?”

Mycroft shot him a glance, pretending to be utterly bored by this conversation already.

“Hardly something I would be concerned with as this is not included in my duties, as you know very well.”

“Huh, still not important enough, I see. Shame, ‘t is.”

Before Mycroft could reply, he got out of his chair, ignoring the cup of coffee his mother had just put on the table. Without another glance at his family, he left the kitchen, not interested in the banter with Mycroft anymore.

He would be early for school, but he didn’t care. Sherlock didn’t want to stay at the house, and he almost felt something like anticipation when he thought about the extra time he would get to sneak through the school and examine the place a little bit.

That was decided then. He knew Mycroft would have a car waiting for him again, but he didn’t even want to think about the possibility of getting in the car again; he tried to be as independent as possible, and relying on Mycroft for a ride didn’t really support his position.

Thank God he still had his bike. He hadn’t used it a lot lately since he had nowhere to go except the woods nearby the house to collect samples of fungi and herbs for his experiments, but Mother had forbidden going there again after he almost got shot by a small group of hunters.

It was a bit rusty, but working just fine. As Sherlock rode down the still mostly empty streets, he couldn’t help but enjoy the admittedly cold wind running through his curls and the feeling of freedom that crept up in his chest. He almost felt at loose. Not a feeling he experienced often.

The school was still abandoned, of course. The dirty brick walls emitted bleakness and something else that Sherlock couldn’t really put his finger on. There was still an hour and a half to go before classes would start. Sherlock was probably the first one here, but he didn’t mind.

There were a couple of bike racks next to the school building. Sherlock remembered them to be completely empty yesterday, due to the rainy weather. He wondered if they were full on other days; he didn’t want to have to look for a new place for his bike. However, he would worry about this on a different day.

Now, he went up to the front door of the building and examined the lock. Almost laughing out loud, he got out a paper clip. Not even ten seconds later, the lock clicked and Sherlock opened the door. The lock was a joke. He would have to tell someone. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the wisest move to admit he had broken into the school building on his second day here.

The halls were quiet except from Sherlock’s footsteps which echoed loudly from the walls. During the day, it didn’t feel that loud, even though a lot more people were wandering around and screaming at each other.

Reaching the stairs, Sherlock suddenly heard a loud screech. It must have come from the first floor, right about where his locker was. Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock slowly proceeded to climb the stairs, ready to face who- or whatever was upstairs. When he reached the last step, he carefully looked out for someone to be at the lockers. When he finally saw who it was, he almost turned around and walked back to his bike.

What was this golden-haired boy doing here? He didn’t seem to be one for break-ins, and Sherlock didn’t let himself believe he had deduced something so serious wrongly about him.

No, it must be something harmless. And he really shouldn’t be scared of walking up there and going to his locker; it was only a boy, why was he suddenly so worried about another human being? He didn’t even have to talk to him, he could just go to his locker, shove his books inside, and leave the building. He would stroll around until it was time for classes; in fact, now that he thought about it, he might as well skip classes and walk around the town all day. An idea began to form in his head, but he denied himself developing his thoughts. Of course Mycroft would know if he skipped; of course Mycroft would know where he’d go. No, this was out of question. He had to stay in school.

Taking in a deep breath, he walked up to his locker, where the other boy was still looking for something. Inwardly, Sherlock groaned. Of course his locker was next to the boy’s. That was just his typical luck.

Not showing any of his inner conflict, he stepped toward his locker. Reaching for the lock, he dropped his bag on the floor. The other boy jumped and turned. He looked horrified; when he saw Sherlock, he visibly relaxed.

“Jesus, you scared me! I didn’t hear you coming up – what are you doing here anyway? Isn’t the front door still locked? Or are you joining the team? Mind you, we could use some new players, even though I wouldn’t have taken you for a big football fan.”

He was babbling around and only when Sherlock stared at him, obviously annoyed, he stopped. He blushed and said, “Uh, sorry … I’m John, by the way.” He didn’t know what to do, so he simply held out his hand, looking uncertain. Something about Sherlock made him feel stupid, but the new boy seemed also quite interesting.

Sherlock looked at him coldly and ignored the offered hand. Instead, he faced the locker and started turning the digits. So that was why he was here. Football practice. There had to be a smaller entrance in the back of the school; likely next to the gym. Of course Sherlock had not seen this one yesterday. Suddenly he was glad he had come early. He really needed to snoop around for a little bit.   
While fingering the lock, he answered the boy’s – John’s – questions.

“Yes, the front door was locked until five minutes ago; no, I am not joining the school’s football team; yes, you are right, I am not a fan of this ridiculous sport. What’s the point of a few people running around on a field, trying to get a hold of a ball, just to give it away almost immediately after getting it?”

Inwardly, Sherlock flinched at his words. He didn’t want to upset John with insulting his obviously favourite sport, but, more important, he didn’t want to make conversation in the first place. Not with anyone. But especially not with John, who had to think Sherlock was an utter git by now. And for whatever reason there was he minded what John thought about him.

Surprised, Sherlock blinked. Since when did he care about other people’s opinion? While he was still trying to figure out what was going on, John laughed. He didn’t seem to be upset at Sherlock’s words; instead, he nodded in agreement while his eyes sparkled the same way they did yesterday.

“Yeah, you’re right, if you think about it. But not everything has to make sense. I like football because it’s fun. But … are you saying you broke into school?”

Sherlock could feel his cheeks turning slightly red. Slowly, he turned to face John. “Uh…” was all he managed to say.

After a few seconds, John began to laugh, and Sherlock thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his life. After a while, he couldn’t hold himself back and started giggling. John had the most infectious laugh in the world, Sherlock was sure.

John wiped away some tears that had emerged in the corner of his eyes, and beamed at Sherlock.

“You’re quite someone, breaking into school on your second day here. Why did you do it anyway?”

This was the question Sherlock had feared because he didn’t have a real answer for it. He didn’t want to tell John about his family. He didn’t seem to mind Sherlock in his presence, but he didn’t want to repel John with his family. He decided for a half truth.

“Uh, you know, I wanted to walk around the school a little, take a look at everything since I’m new here and all…” He didn’t really know what to say and stammered around. He was almost embarrassed by himself. Usually he was an excellent liar. Nobody except Mother and Mycroft could tell if he was lying or telling the truth, and they didn’t count.

But John seemed to buy it and didn’t ask further. Instead, he looked at his watch and frowned. “Shit, I’m late for practice. I need to go – Sherlock, right? It was nice meeting you; I guess I’ll see you later in class later! I’ve got to go now. Bye!”

Sherlock nodded slowly and watched John walking off. He was surprised he had not run off as soon as possible after exchanging only a few words with Sherlock. That’s what he was used to. That’s what he could cope with. But he couldn’t deal with this tickling of hope rising in his chest; with John whose eyes sparkled and hair was shining golden and-

Sherlock decided he needed a smoke. His thoughts were decidedly too occupied with John. He didn’t even know him, why did he not stop thinking about him? And why did he seem to not have control over his thoughts suddenly?

Sighing, he searched for the nearest entrance. He didn’t want to leave through the front door; the secretary was going to arrive soon, and he didn’t want to be caught slipping in or out. So he followed John in the direction he had gone to; there needed to be the second door somewhere.

Sure enough, Sherlock found a staircase at the end of the hallway which led to a small door with translucent glass. Carefully, he pushed it open.

The chilly morning air surrounded him immediately and made Sherlock wish once more he had brought his scarf. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he simply leaned against the brick wall of the building and lit a cigarette after he had searched his pockets for the packet.

In the distance he could make out the football field. He really didn’t understand the point of the game, and unlike John, he thought, “If there is no point in doing something, then why do it anyway?” But he watched nevertheless for lack of distraction. Unfortunately Sherlock couldn’t quite make out John, so he grew tired of it after a few minutes. He dropped the cigarette butt and went back inside. He could still make good use of the time he had left before his classes started.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I didn't proof-read this chapter another time (I'm too drunk). I still hope the chapters are enjoyable!


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